


THIS IS MY DESIGN

by samoose_the_moose



Series: a design of aching ((hannigram)) [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Autism, Autistic Will Graham, Cannibalism, Gay, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Murder, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Stimming, Violence, Will Graham & Beverly Katz Friendship, self-harm in the form of hitting, will and beverly friendship supremacy, will's dad was a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:41:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29634102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samoose_the_moose/pseuds/samoose_the_moose
Summary: Will Graham, an autistic empath with a troubled past filled with child abuse, who occasionally works with the FBI to catch crazy killers by getting into their mindset.Hannibal Lecter, a rich, well respected therapists who lives all alone in a mansion, wears three piece suits and has a dangerously dark secret.Will find out about Hannibal's secret. Hannibal finds out about Will's not-so-secret-secrets.That's the only way I can explain it.
Relationships: Jack Crawford & Will Graham, Will Graham & Beverly Katz, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: a design of aching ((hannigram)) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177394
Comments: 4
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!! Contains mentions of suicidal thoughts, a side character commits suicide, child abuse, autism, ableism, cannibalism, descriptions of murder and violence, some delusions, emotional breakdowns, anxiety, self-harm in the form of hitting. 
> 
> I wrote this in swedish for an assignment ((it was a swedish novel, written by me for school, in the beginning)). My teacher told me it was amazing, and I was gonna translate this anyway. Hope you like this! Because I kinda do (even though I'm sorry it's rushed in the end).

“How was your childhood, Will?” Hannibal asked while his eyes studied the other man’s reaction closely. 

“It was… alright,” answered Will and gazed down at the floor, where his eyes studied the expensive looking carpet that was lying underneath the chaise lounge which stood a few feet away from the arm chairs they were seated in. 

“What is your mother’s name?” Asked the therapist who was dressed in a (also very expensive looking) marine blue and grey three piece suit. 

Will cleared his throat before he corrected him. “Was. Her name _was_ Margaret.”

Hannibal nodded understandingly and wrote something down in the brown notebook he always had in front of him during their sessions. In contrast to the nice, expensive suits Hannibal always wore, Will preferred to choose comfort over looks, and would usually wear flannel shirts with simple sweaters on top. Sometimes, meaning when he teaches his lessons on behavioral science at the FBI academy of Quantico, Virginia, he wears a blazer over the outfit of flannels and sweaters, together with his glasses. Hannibal and Will were strong contrasts to each other – two completely different people, one with a big, costly mansion and fancy suits and slicked back, ash brown hair (with weak grey tones within it), and the other one with half a dozen stray dogs in a small house in the middle of the forest with nothing else other than the earlier named flannel shirt and sweaters in his small closet and messy dark brown hair that falls down in soft locks on his forehead and behind his ears. He has never gone to a hairdresser, everytime he thought it was time for him to get a haircut, he would have at least three shots of whiskey and do it with the kitchen scissors. 

“And your father’s?” Hannibal’s voice shook him out of his thoughts. 

“Beau,” Will answered shortly and clenched his jaw in disgust for the man who raised him.

“Is he still alive?” Hannibal asked softly, his european accent strong as always. 

Will shrugged and started rubbing his right thumb over his left palm harder and harder. This did not go unnoticed by Hannibal and he let his gaze rest on the nervous man’s hands when he asked the next question. 

“Are you still in contact with him?” 

“No,” Will said decidedly.

Dr. Lecter's gaze travelled along the fumbling form of the other, examining it. He noticed the younger man’s bouncing leg, which indicated that he was either nervous or (as it seemed paired with how he had now begun running his hands back and forth over his thighs) might’ve even started stimming. It wasn’t until Will softly started rocking back and forth that Hannibal put his notebook aside. 

“Will,” he received no response. Hannibal leaned forward a little, his arms on his knees to support himself. “Did your father ever hurt you?” 

Will cast an uncomfortable glance at his therapist once his words reached him. 

“He drank a lot,” Will said finally and stayed completely still, his voice barely above a whisper. “He had a lot of temperament.”

“Did he ever hurt you?” Hannibal pressed. 

Will’s lips could no longer form words and his vocals cords could no longer make any sounds, so he simply nodded stiffly. He felt small and his body seemed to sink further into the armchair. 

“How often?” Dr. Lecter asked professionally, even though he was slightly sorry for everything Will had gone through and still had to get through.

“I-in the beginning it wasn’t that bad. It only happened when he was drunk or mad,” he talked about it like it was okay. Like he was ashamed of it, like it was his fault. Because he thought it was. “Then he got mad more often. For nothing. I think at some point it didn’t matter anymore if I had done anything wrong. Or if he was drunk.”

Will looked at Hannibal. The latter met his eyes, but Will stared stubbornly at his forehead, refusing to make eye contact with the older man’s golden brown eyes. 

“What did your mother do?” 

“She couldn’t do anything,” Will cast his eyes down to the floor again, cheeks pink and heated by shame and anger. “She got cancer when I was nine. I don’t think she even knew what Beau did to me. After she died it only got worse.”

“Have you ever experienced any suicidal thoughts?” This was one of the things Hannibal had always wanted to know about Will. He was fascinated by WIll, how he reacted so differently to things than others do, even towards Hannibal. 

_“I don’t find you that interesting,” Will said challengingly while he moved Hannibal’s protein scramble around his plate with the fork he was holding._

_“You don’t?” Hannibal raised an eyebrow and looked up from his own food. It wasn’t often that people (especially those in lower class than himself) were this open and… rude towards him._

_“Nope,” Will shook his head and lifted his gaze from the scrambled eggs and meat on his plate to look at Hannibal. “Should I?”_

_Hannibal smiled. “No.”  
_

“Hasn’t everyone had those?” Asked Will with a faked, unpleasant smile and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

_No._ “Perhaps, yes.”

“Well then it doesn’t matter,” said the younger man emotionlessly. 

“It does here. Answer the question, William.”

“Don’t call me ‘William’,” hissed Will and straightened up in his seat. “My name is Will.” 

“I apologize, Will,” neither Dr. Lecter’s facial expression nor the way he sat had changed. “But I would like an answer. Should I be worried?”

“No,” said Will and sank back down in the armchair again. “There is no reason for you to be worried.”

“But have you had thoughts about it before? Even if I don’t have to worry anymore,” Hannibal added the last thing to seem like he believed Will.

“Like I said, everyone has had them,” Will saw the unimpressed look on Hannibal’s face in response to his answer. “But yes. I have thought about it.”

“And how did that feel?” 

Will suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. It was so typically Hannibal, so typical for therapists to ask this question. _“And how did that make you feel?”_. He was pretty tired of that question, but he didn’t exactly have a choice. Even though he wanted to strangle Hannibal everytime the phrase came out of the man’s mouth. Which, of course, Jack wouldn’t accept.

“Back then, it felt like there was no other way,” he explained and empathized the words ‘back then’. 

“And now?” 

“I’m better now,” lied Will easily. “More stable.”

He almost started laughing at the word ‘stable’ himself, specifically at how he had just called himself stable in front of the therapist who is supposed to help him with his problems since he has so many, according to Jack (and others). If he was being honest (which he preferred not to be when it comes to this stuff), he felt as far from being stable as possible. 

“I’m happy to hear that,” the therapist smiled. 

“Why? I’m sorry, but you’re only my therapist,” said Will. 

“I’m hardly that, at least not officially. Jack wants to make sure you are alright, and the more I get to know you, I want the same. That does not mean we can not be friends.” 

Will stared at Hannibal, a lump in his throat. He swallowed harshly and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. Their session ended five minutes ago. 

“I have to go now. The dogs have to be let out before it gets dark,” said Will and although they both knew that Will sometimes takes walks with his dogs in the middle of the night in the dark, neither of them said anything about it and Hannibal just nodded. 

“I’ll see you next week.”

“I’ll think we’ll probably see each other earlier than that,” Will joked badly while he put on his jacket, but it still made Hannibal smile. 

“Yes, probably.”

-

“The victim’s eyes were scooped out while he was still alive. They were replaced by the past victim’s eyes, just like it had been done by all three previous victims,” Jack Crawford explained with his usual sad, but also slightly irritated expression he always had when they were at crime scenes. He turned towards Will who had his hands stuffed in his pockets and was staring at the dead man lying on the floor wearing a white dress. 

“Cause of death?” Will asked. 

“We don’t know yet. They’re doing tests, can be a poisoning but we know nothing for sure yet. He could have bled out as well,” answered Jack. “So, what do you think?”

Will looked up at Jack with pursed lips. With one hand he scratched his neck while sighing deeply before nodding to himself once. He took a step closer to the body, and Jack took this as a sign to take a few steps back while Will closed his eyes.

It was like a golden sliver of light, or maybe just some sort of golden locket that was swinging back and forth in front of his eyes and when he opened them again, all the people and police cars were gone. All the blood was gone too and he realized that he was standing next to a black BMW. He walked around it and opened the trunk where the man who was just lying dead on the ground was sitting, fear clear in his eyes with bound hands, legs and duct tape over his mouth. Will grabs the man who starts fighting in weak, tired motions and simply drags him out of the car and into the snow. 

“I’m strong. I take the man out of my car. He is bound, even his mound although we are in a forest in the middle of nowhere. I either live or drove past somewhere with a lot of people on the way here,” Will narrates and even though he can’t see Jack, the man is standing there and writing down everything he says.

Will took out a toolbox from the car and put it down in the snow as well. He straddled the man’s hips so he was unable to flee and opened the box, which was filled with ice and a melon baller. He took the melon baller and lay a hand over the rest of the man’s face to hold it still and open one of his eyes with his thumb and index finger. He could feel the man’s panicked breaths against his hand. 

“I hold him still while I take the melon baller and start carefully, but harshly digging its edge in under the victim’s eye,” he did what he said as the same time as he explained it and the breathing of the man underneath him turned shallow, muffled sounds of panic and pain trying to push past the duct tape covering his mouth. 

He now had the eye in the melon baller and carefully put it on the ice in the box before he did the same thing with the other eye. Warm, sticky blood streamed down the man’s face and over Will’s hands, dyeing both a deep crimson. 

“This is my design,” Will said quietly, completely numb as he watched the man bleed out. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!! Contains mentions of suicidal thoughts, a side character commits suicide, child abuse, autism, ableism, cannibalism, descriptions of murder and violence, some delusions, emotional breakdowns, anxiety, self-harm in the form of hitting.

When Will opens his eyes again he is still standing right in front of the body. He stared down at the brown, bloody eyes and the dried blood that clung everywhere to the man’s face and the snow around him. 

“He must’ve been strong. He was easily able to lift this man out of a BMW,” Will started rambling about what he had seen to Jack. 

“A BMW?” Jack asked, confused.

Will nodded and pointed down at the snow behind himself, careful not to step on the tracks when he turned around and walked closer to them, where he remembers the BMW standing. “The tracks. It got colder today after having been a little warmer. Afterwards it snowed again as we can see on the body, which means that-” 

“That the tracks must’ve frozen,” Jack finished and Will nodded. 

Will squatted down and carefully brushed the upper layer of powder snow away to reveal the frozen car tracks. 

“How do you know it’s a BMW?” 

“The tracks… I just know it,” he scratched his neck again. 

“What can you tell me about his motive?” Asked Jack. He never really questions Will, having learnt to trust what he says. And that has proven effective so far. 

“He wants them to see life out of other people’s eyes,” said Will with a slightly confused expression. “Peter Wassloff, the first victim, he was rich rich. He... he was of high class, a real asshole. Hank Browning, the second victim, on the other hand, was poor. He… had it tough, with his job, with his wife… I think the killer switches their eyes to make them see life out of the other’s perspective. He probably wants Hank to know what it’s like to be rich, and for Peter to know how tough life can be when you’re not. I think.”

He looked at Jack for approval and the latter nodded. Will stood back up and stuffed his hands into his pockets again, where he had a small, soft, lime green plastic reflex dog keychain which he had bought a while ago. He had removed the metal ring which usually has a chain through itself and would squeeze it, fold it and sometimes even bite in it. It calmed him and gave him something to focus on when things became too much. 

“Let’s go back to headquarters and do an obduction. Afterwards we’ll go through the other victims, possible motives and suspects. Sounds good?” Jack informed, authority clear in both his voice and posture as always. 

Will nodded silently and Jack gave the others a signal to take away the body while he and Will went back to Jack’s black jeep. 

-

“We think it has something with empathy to do, about getting the victims to see life out of the other victims eyes. Literally,” explained Jack to the rest of the team, which consisted of Beverly Katz, Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller. 

Will felt their eyes on him. Although they were friendly towards him, he knew they talked about him behind his back. Everyone does. Especially now that the killer’s motive might be ‘empathy’, which is sort of Will’s ‘thing’. Empathy disorder. He doesn’t know how he can think like the killers they hunt, but he can and it has saved a lot of lives. It’s slowly destroying him, but that doesn’t matter to Will. As long as he’s saving other people’s lives.

“We’re doing some blood tests right now,” informed Beverly. “We haven’t been able to find any DNA that the murderer might’ve left behind. Nothing underneath the fingernails or anything, but we’ll inform you once we get the results back.” 

“Thanks, Beverly,” nodded Jack. “My boss is irritated since there have already been four of these murders, so he has sent another unit as help. I expect you to work well together with them and I think we’ll solve this case soon.”

Will’s leg had started bouncing up and down when the new unit was mentioned. He wasn’t good at meeting new people, and there was a possibility that he was going to receive a lot of questions. And looks. 

Right then the door opened and three men came inside, all dressed in suits. Will couldn’t help but think about how their suits didn’t look to cost even a fourth of what Hannibal’s do. Quickly he shook that thought off and turned away from them. 

“Would it kill them to hire some women,” Beverly whispered sarcastically to Will in her calm, rough voice. Will let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in an attempt at a quiet chuckle. He gave her a small smile, showing his teeth and when she smiled back, crows feet formed at the corners of her eyes. 

Will liked Beverly. She was nice, and often the only one who didn’t treat him like he was weird and different from everyone else. The only one who didn’t think he was completely insane. Except for maybe Hannibal and Jack, although the latter’s reason for that could just be ignorance. 

“Jack Crawford,” introduced Jack himself to the newcomers and shook their hands. “This is my team; Agent Beverly Katz.”

Beverly took a step forward and shook their hands with a friendly smile. 

“Dr. Jimmy Price.”

Jimmy took a step forward and shook their hands as well. 

“Brian Zeller.”

Brian did the same thing and Will felt the anxiety rise in his chest, lying there heavily as he tried his best to slow down his breathing. 

“And Will Graham.”

All three of the men looked at him, waiting for him to come forward and shake their hands, but he didn’t. He stayed where he was and simply waved awkwardly in their direction. There was a lump in his throat, expanding to the point where it hurt and he felt his hands start sweating and shaking slightly when he saw their judging eyes. 

_ “Good job, William,”  _ Will heard his dad’s voice whisper in his ear with a condescending tone to it.  _ “They already know you’re a nutjob. Everyone knows it.” _

“Allow me to summarize what we know so far,” Jack said quickly when he saw Will’s reaction. He started talking about the case, and Will was sure the men said their names at some point, but he was unable to hear anything. The whole world had been muted to his ears. 

Beverly had got him to sit down, here hands had discreetly taken a hold of his arm and guided him towards a chair by the wall of the conference room. She sat down next to him and stopped touching him. She knew that he would take her hand if he needed to, but Will had never been particularly good with physical contact. 

The agent next to him didn’t attempt to talk to him, instead she just sat there as mental support for Will, and he appreciated it. He wishes he could tell her how much he appreciates her support and friendship, but every time he tries to express his feelings it ends with him backing out and almost having a panic attack. Not very ideal. 

-

“Will,” a hand touched his shoulder and he flinched. The blue pair of eyes which belonged to the empath focused and Will turned his head to see Hannibal standing next to him. “What are you still doing here?” 

Will looked up and around the empty conference room. “W-what time is it?”

An uncomfortable scratchiness made itself present in his throat when he spoke and he tried to get rid of it by swallowing all the spit he could gather in his mouth. 

“Five,” answered Hannibal, unable to hide the worried ton in his voice and the concerned look he gave the man in front of him. “How long have you been here?”

Will frowned and swallowed again, this time to get the lump out of his throat that was forming there again. The spit had done little to soothe his throat, of course, and Will cleared his throat lightly. “Three hours.” 

“In this room?” 

Will nodded. He had no idea how he had managed to sit here for three hours without noticing it. 

“Come, I’ll drive you home,” said Hannibal and removed his hand from Will’s shoulder. But the younger man didn’t move a muscle, simply staring into nothingness as an internal battle of thoughts went on inside of him. “Will.”

Will blinked and looked up at Hannibal. He felt extremely dissociated from the whole situation in that moment, which just made the frown on the therapist’s face deepen. Hannibal took a step closer to the sitting man again. 

“Are you alright, Will?” Hannibal asked. He was trying to repeat the other’s name as much as possible when he talked to get him to recognize himself in reality and come back from whatever state he was in now. Normally he’d most likely touch him to ground him, but he knew Will disliked touch. 

“Mhm,” hummed Will. 

Dr. Lecter didn’t believe him. “Can you stand up on your own or do you require my help?” 

Will shook his head, and Hannibal was just about to ask him which of the two questions he said no to when Will started rising up out of his chair. Standing on shaky legs, he tried to focus his gaze down on the floor, where he with his eyes followed the cracks in the wood. 

“I’ll drive you home,” repeated Hannibal and Will knew there was no use in arguing, so he simply followed Hannibal out of the building and towards his black Bentley. Sometimes Will forgets how much money Hannibal actually has (which one might think would be impossible to forget, just by taking one look at him you’d know he has a lot of money.) 

The car quickly warmed up and the soft leather of the front seat was so comfortable, Will thought he was going to fall asleep, but for some reason he didn’t really feel safe enough to fall asleep in Hannibal’s car. That may be because of his difficulties with trusting others, or that he gets a genuinely bad feeling from the older man. At the same time he felt an odd pull towards him. 

“You may sleep if you want,” said Hannibal and glanced at Will. “I’ll wake you up when we arrive.” 

“I’m not tired,” he lied. Hannibal didn’t respond and they sat in heavy silence while Will tried to not fall asleep from the car’s calm hum and the sound of the road under them. 

“How come you stayed at your job for so long after everyone else had left?” Asked Hannibal finally and Will cast a glance in his direction before looking out of the window on his own side. 

Now it was a question of whether he should be honest or not. On one hand would the lying not help him. Not in any way. On the other hand, lying was so much easier than being honest.

“I don’t know,” he confessed at last. “I lost track of time. One moment I’m there and… suddenly everyone is gone and you’re there.”

“You remember nothing of the time in between?” 

Will takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “No.”

“What’s the last thing you can recall before you saw me?” Asked Hannibal after another short moment of silence. 

“Jack, Jimmy, Beverly, Zeller and me talked about the new case,” Will started and rubbed his hand over his face. “Three men who are supposed to help with it arrived. I think they were sent by Jack’s boss… I got a little nervous.” 

“That’s completely normal for someone like you, Will,” said Hannibal but never looked at the man who was sitting next to him, his eyes simply stayed on the road. 

“Someone like me, what’s that supposed to mean?” Will asked somewhat defensively.

“It wasn’t my intention for it to sound that way,” his voice was softer now. It never failed to surprise Will how soft his voice could be. “Although, I do think you know what I mean.” 

Will didn’t respond. Instead he watched the snowy landscape of fields, trees and whole forests rush by them (even though he of course knew they were the ones rushing past everything else). He of course also knew what the older man had meant, and couldn’t help but wonder if Hannibal knew everything about him when it comes to medical records. He probably did. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!! Contains mentions of suicidal thoughts, a side character commits suicide, child abuse, autism, ableism, cannibalism, descriptions of murder and violence, some delusions, emotional breakdowns, anxiety, self-harm in the form of hitting.

They didn’t say anything under the whole rest of the ride and when Hannibal turned the expensive, neatly polished car into the small forest road that led up to Will’s house, the flannel clad man could feel his whole body relaxing. Soon he would get to see his dogs again, would be able to curl into himself with Winston in his lap in the armchair in front of the fireplace. 

The snow reflected the car’s headlights and even the weak light from the moon, which made the white blanket that covered everything from head to toe, look like it was sparkling. A small smile crept onto Will’s cheeks and when Hannibal finally parked the car in front of the house, Will quickly got out of it. The cold outside compared to the comfortable warmth of the car bit at Will’s cheeks and stuck needles in his fingers, so he stuffed them in his pockets. 

Hannibal also climbed out of the car and adjusted his coat before he walked around the car to follow behind Will. The latter didn’t seem to notice at first, he just went up to his door, where he could already hear the dog’s barks and whines and how their small paws clawed at the door and scratched through old claw marks deeply embedded into the wood. As soon as he opened the door they all shot out into the snow, nearly knocking him down. Seeing as dogs have their own internal clock, they probably noticed their owner’s absence at home, and got worried when he didn’t show up when he usually does.

A big smile was present on Will’s face when he crouched down to greet them and let them lick his face. Their breaths were warm and their tongues wet, but Will didn’t care. His fingers dug into their soft fur and he felt the last bit of tension that he had left in his body leave him. He was home now. 

When he got back up he noticed Hannibal was still there and watched him greet his dogs. For some reason that made his cheeks heat up, but he was sure the other man didn’t notice because of the cold. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Asked Hannibal, still concerned about the fact that Will can’t remember three whole hours. 

He rolled his eyes. “I can take care of myself, Hannibal.” 

“I never said you couldn’t,” said the older man innocently. “I can however admit that I worry for you.” 

“What? I thought that was ‘normal’ for someone like me,” Will suddenly hissed. At the same time as he felt both scared of and drawn to Hannibal, there was this unexplainable anger towards him as well. But Will recognized the way the older man looked at him, and his frustration grew. “Don’t psychoanalyze me! You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.”

The therapist raised an eyebrow. “Will, I have done nothing to you, calm down, please.”

It sounded both condescending and sincere coming from Hannibal. Maybe it was the way he could never really decipher what Hannibal was trying to say when he talked with emotions in his voice, which Will thought rarely ever happened anyway. He always spoke with a calm voice with that european accent Will sometimes pondered over. 

“How is it fair that you know everything about me and I know nothing about you?” Will suddenly asked, still irritated. “You can’t really build a ‘friendship’ on that kind of foundation, can you.”

Hannibal’s tongue swept over his bottom lip and he clenched his jaw, before his facial expressions softened. Will had no idea what that meant.

“Ask me whatever you want, and I shall answer honestly,” he suggested.

Will, confused by the sudden shift in his behavior, stared down at the snow and tried to think it over.

“The only thing I ask for in return is your honesty,” added the therapist and Will laughed in disbelief. 

There it was, there was always a catch. They all always wanted something in return. “And why would I agree to that?” 

“You don’t find me interesting,” Hannibal said instead of responding to the question.

“Right,” Will said, even though he wasn’t so sure of it anymore.

“You will,” was the only thing Hannibal said. “But I’ll leave if you like.” 

“You can come in,” said Will after a while. “I can make tea.”

Will gathered all 7 dogs again while Hannibal took off his coat and sat down in one of the armchairs by the window. The same armchair he sat in the first time he brought breakfast here for Will and himself.

_ “Just keep it professional,” said Will simply.  _

_ “Or we can socialize like adults. God forbid we become friendly,” Hannibal smiled.  _

_ They continued to eat in silence, whether it was an awkward one or not was hard to say. Hannibal could feel the pressure of Will’s mind, could feel how he wanted to ask him something so bad at the same time as he was extremely uncomfortable with simply having Hannibal in his house.  _

_ “Do you ever have any problems, Will?” Hannibal asked suddenly.  _

_ Will pretended to be surprised that Hannibal would ask such a thing, putting his fingers softly against his sternum to gesture towards himself at the same time as he lifted both eyebrows. He knew that the other man knew he wasn’t stable and when he spoke it was a quiet whisper, filled with sarcasm (the kind of sarcasm that sounds like they’re lying, but they are sounding like that on purpose). “No.” _

_ “Of course not,” Hannibal said to play along. “You and I are the same. Problem free. Nothing to feel bad about.” _

_ Will continued to eat in silence and Hannibal caught himself staring at the not-quite-profiler.  _

_ “You know, Will,” he leaned forward a bit. “I think uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup. The finest china only used for special guests.” _

_ Will started laughing. A hoarse, unfitting laugh, inappropriate to the entire situation. But it still made Hannibal smile when the other man leaned back in his armchair and rubbed his chin.  _

_ “How do you see me?” Will asked then. Hannibal watches him while he chooses his words carefully.  _

_ “Like the mongoose I want under my house while the snakes slither by,” Hannibal had said and Will’s smile was replaced with a frown and pursed lips. They looked at each other for a while before Hannibal looked down at the food on Will’s plate and gestured down at it with his fork.  _

_ “Finish your breakfast.” _

It felt like Hannibal had never gotten to know more about Will than in that moment a few weeks ago, when he woke him early with his knocks against the door. The therapist looked around the room from where he sat, took in the green walls in contrast with the dark brown wooden furniture and window frames. Since the house had a lot of windows, Hannibal could see the front, side and back of the house from where he sat. 

One of the dogs, a tricolour border collie named Max, came up to Hannibal, tail wagging behind himself and started sniffing at the man’s leg. Will had a habit of taking in strays, which is why he has 7 dogs of different sizes, breeds and colours living with him. The newest member, Winston, was a crossbreed between german shepherd and golden retriever, Will had said once. He could talk about his dogs for hours, even though he knew no one actually cared, or listened. Except for Hannibal, who always clings to every word that leaves Will’s lips, even if it may not seem that way. 

Then Will came in with two mugs of tea which he set down on the table between the two armchairs and sat down in front of Hannibal. They sat in an awkward silence while Winston climbed into Will’s lap, and even though he was a medium sized dog (therefore pretty big compared to lap dogs), Will allowed it. Of course he did. 

“What would you like to know?” Asked Hannibal finally. 

“Where are you from?” Asked Will after thinking for a bit. 

“Lithuanian,” Hannibal answered with no further thought. “And you?” 

“Trailer parks,” Will let an uncomfortable and misplaced smile spread across his face for a few seconds. 

“Did you move around a lot?” Hannibal followed up, but Will held out a hand to stop him. 

“It’s my turn to ask a question,” he said and Hannibal nodded, as always there was seemingly no emotion on the older man’s face. “Do you have any siblings?” 

Hannibal looked down at the floor, but held his head high as always. “Yes.” 

“Really? I’ve never heard you mention that-,” Will said surprised, completely unaware of Hannibal’s emotional state.

“My sister died when I was eleven,” interrupted Dr. Lecter him. 

Will’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and he studied the man in front of him, before he frowned and let out a quiet “oh”.

“Besides, it is my turn to ask a question,” he quoted Will and looked up, straight into the younger man’s eyes. Will blinked and turned his head to look out of the window and thereby avoiding the eyecontact Hannibal always seems to want to have with him. His right hand ran absently through Winston’s fur. 

“How long have you been diagnosed with autism?” 

The words took a few seconds longer than they should have to reach Will, but once they reached he froze. 

“How did you know?” He asked dumbfounded. 

Of course he knew. Hannibal had probably gotten a whole fucking report of him, about how unstable, broken and sensitive he was. Will also knew he wasn’t particularly discreet. How could he, when it affects every aspect of his life?   
And although Hannibal knew that Will knew how, he answered. After all it was Will’s turn to ask something. 

“You avoid eye contact. You seem very sensitive towards certain sounds, smells, lights, colours and other senses. You stim. A lot, almost all the time, and you probably don’t even notice it. You laugh and smile when it’s unfitting, and you get angry quickly out of nowhere. You have difficulties reading other’s feelings and certain situations, even though you don’t seem to have any problems getting inside the mind of a killer. You hate change, like when Alana dyed her hair or they switched meeting rooms. Jack’s new car. You show signs och echolalia, and you often give unrelated answers to questions. When I attempt to have a conversation with you, you shut down and aren’t very good at keeping it up. You also seem to dislike and avoid physical contact, although that might be less because of autism and more as a result of your childhood.”

Will stared at Hannibal in shock. Was he really that obvious? So easy to see through?

“And I’ve read your file,” Hannibal added with a small smile. 

“I had no idea it was so obvious,” responded Will and looked down at his teacup before he took a sip of the warm liquid. 

“I have gone through a lot of educations and courses to learn about people like you. I know what autism looks like, but that doesn’t mean you’re very obvious about it,” Hannibal vaguely comforted him. “When were you diagnosed?”

“When I was seven,” answered Wil, something in his voice telling Hannibal he was ashamed of it, and the way he refused to even look in the therapist’s direction said how nervous he was. “They knew something was wrong with me, I knew it too. I couldn’t and didn’t want to play with the other children, bla bla bla, the usual. My parents, mostly Beau of course, wanted to get rid of the autism. I can’t really blame them. Did you know that my da- that Beau suggested electroshock therapy?” 

Of course Hannibal didn’t know that, but he said nothing. He had unlocked something inside of Will which got him to ramble on and on, and Hannibal was glad he did. Not only because the younger man needs to get it out, but also because the therapist has long wished for Will to open up to him. Dr. Lecter also noticed how Will corrected himself when he almost called Beau “dad”. 

“Mom didn’t permit that of course,” Will continued. “I think even the doctor looked at him like he was crazy. He _was_ _fucking_ _crazy_.” 

“Did he ever do anything to suppress your autistic tendencies?” Hannibal asked seriously. He wondered if Beau was still alive and if he could maybe find his current address… 

Will nodded, but still refused to look at Hannibal and instead followed a couple of cracks in the wood around his window with his eyes. “Every time I stimmed he told me to stop. He would hold me down… he hit me… “

Hannibal was surprised over how much Will shared now. But he was also a little worried, since Will didn’t seem to have any kind of emotional reaction to what he remembered at all.    
Will felt completely numb talking about his childhood. Completely detached from what had happened, as if the memories in his head belonged to someone else. It was completely silent between them now, the only audible sounds were the dog’s small breaths. 

“What happened to your sister?” Will finally asked, tired of talking about himself without finding anything in return. 

Silence. 

“I should go now,” said Hannibal suddenly and stood up. 

“I’ll find out what happened eventually,” warned Will irritatedly while Hannibal pulled on his coat again. 

Hannibal paused. “Not if I have a say in it.”

And then he was out the door.

That night was the first night in weeks Will had a nightmare about his dad again. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!! Contains mentions of suicidal thoughts, a side character commits suicide, child abuse, autism, ableism, cannibalism, descriptions of murder and violence, some delusions, emotional breakdowns, anxiety, self-harm in the form of hitting.

“It’s the way the murderer tries so desperately to send messages with his actions, with his kills. The way he displays them, as if he was proud and didn’t see anything wrong with what he does,” Will explained while his hands waved around in the air. “You could almost think that-” 

“Quiet hands,” said Agent Becker (whose name Will had found out earlier that morning) out of nowhere and Will froze with his hands in the air in front of him. 

He blinked a few times and frowned before he slowly started lowering his hands and looked at the man. “Excuse me?” 

“Your hands are flying around in the air too much. It’s not professional,” he said boldly. 

Everyone from Will’s unit, except for Jack who had gone to get coffeé, looked at the man in shock. Will swallowed hard. 

“That they even hire someone like you,” the agent said with a mean expression on his face as he neared Will. “A mentally handicapped. A retard.”

“Leave him alone. How old are you, thirteen?” Beverly jumped in to defend Will, her voice filled with venom towards the unknown man. Will just stood there, unsure of what he should do. It had been a pretty long time since he last had encountered ableism, or any kind of comments about his autism. 

In that moment Jack came running into the room, unaware of what had just happened. “They matched DNA they found under a victim’s fingernails to a man here in Quantico, we have an address.” 

Will took a step back and away from Agent Becker, what Jack had said slowly sinking in and everyone jumped up to follow Jack. Everyone except Will, who still stood frozen and completely perplexed in the same spot as before. 

“Come on, Will, let’s go,” said Beverly and he shook his head, not to say no but to force himself back into reality. 

“I’m coming,” he said and followed Beverly. 

-

“Morgan Hemming, FBI, open up!” Jack yelled while hitting his fist against the door of the suspect’s apartment. 

When he received no answer he took a step back and kicked in the door. The FBI men stormed the apartment, while Will stayed back in the hall since he isn’t really FBI. His hand was in his jacket pocket, squeezing the lime green plastic dog. He had a gun, of course, in case things go to hell like they do sometimes.

“Will,” yelled Jack with a certain tone in his voice that Will didn’t notice and even if he had, he probably couldn’t have been able to decipher it.

Instead he ran into the apartment, looking for Jack whom he found in the bedroom, completely unprepared for the scene he would see there. A man, probably in his thirties, so around Will’s age, with short blond hair and pale skin layed on the floor, an empty pill bottle next to him and bloody wrists. Will paled, feeling ready to empty the contents of his stomach onto the scene. He looked away from the body and up at Jack Crawford, who was holding a letter.

“You should read this,” he finally said and gave Will the letter. 

Will felt his hands starting to shake from the scene, which was weird since he usually didn’t have a problem with the horrible things he sees daily. Although this was different, and it scared Will, especially because he couldn’t decipher the feeling. Not that he usually could. 

The letter was short and it was noticeable that there hadn’t been much time spent on it, only a few sentences were there. 

_ I’m the empathy killer. You were at least right about how I choose my victims, and why. Everything else about me was wrong. But it doesn’t matter anymore, because god told me to come home. I’m done with my mission, I can go home now.  _

_ You and I are just alike. We feel too much empathy. You too are chosen by god. Accept it, and you will find your way.  _

“Who is he talking to in the last paragraph?” Asked Will, although he could probably guess who. 

“You,” responded Jack and showed the front of the envelope he was holding, where in small fat letters it said ‘Will Graham’. 

Will swallowed hard and nodded quietly. Maybe the man was right. Maybe they were alike. Maybe Will would also go crazy one day. If he hadn’t already. 

“I don’t want you to believe a confused murderer,” Jack commanded. “You and that man have nothing in common, alright?” 

Will nodded, even though he didn’t believe it. Once again he felt completely detached, still staring down at the letter.

“Alright?!” Jack raised his voice which was harsher now and Will was just able to suppress a flinch. 

“Alright,” he mumbled. 

“Good,” said Jack and took out his phone from his pocket. “You should go home Will. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. We’ll be fine here without you.”

Will didn’t respond, but it didn’t seem like Jack expected him to either. He just held his phone against his ear and started talking, so Will left. He left the apartment, and he didn’t notice until he was sat in his silver grey car that he was still holding the letter. He’ll have to return it tomorrow. He still felt completely weird, and even though he knew he shouldn’t drive like this, he had no one to call and ask for a ride. The thought to call Alana Bloom, or even Hannibal crossed his mind, but he ignored both and instead put his key in the ignition. 

Because it wasn’t a ghost he had seen, no. What he saw was something much realer than that. 

-

“I heard you caught the last killer,” Hannibal said a couple days later when they were sat in front of each other again in his office for their weekly session. “What did they call him again?” 

“The empathy killer,” said Will, his voice completely monotone. “He exchanged the eyes of his victim’s with each other.”

“Right,” nodded Hannibal. “Jack Crawford mentioned there was a letter with your name on it.” 

Will simply nodded and felt the familiar nausea return. 

“What did the letter say?” Hannibal pressed. 

Will hesitated before he answered the question. “That he and I are just alike.”

“Have you ever been in contact with this man?” Asked Hannibal curiously. 

“No,” Will shook his head to underline his answer. “I have-  _ had _ never seen him.” 

“How do you think he knew you?” 

“What is this, an interrogation?” Will raised an eyebrow and continued to play with the lime green plastic dog, which he now dared to have during his and Hannibal’s sessions, but only after Hannibal said he could. 

“I’m just a concerned friend,” Hannibal responded and lightly shook his head. “It must’ve been hard seeing a person who had comitted suicide when you yourself have battled such thoughts, no?” 

“I thought we agreed that everyone has those thoughts sometimes,” answered Will tiredly with a sigh. 

“Yes, but we’re not talking about everyone now. We’re talking about you,” Hannibal said sharply. “How did you feel when you saw him?”

Will started nervously running his hands over his thighs. “Can’t we talk about something else?” 

“I have asked this before but I will ask you again and I want an honest answer,” insisted Hannibal. “Should I be worried?” 

“For me?” Will looked up at Hannibal, avoiding eye contact and instead looked at the other man’s tie. 

“Yes, for you,” affirmed Hannibal seriously and Will smiled, but not a happy smile. 

_ Unfitting emotional reactions.  _

“No,” answered Will and the smile on his face was pulled into a grimace. A fitting reaction. “Nothing had changed.” 

“When you fantasized about suicide, how did you think about doing it?” 

Will averted his eyes and looked down at the lime green dog in his hands. “I want to go now.”

“Our time isn’t over yet, Will,” responded Hannibal, slightly alarmed by the younger man’s reaction. 

“I want to go now,” Will repeated and shakely rose from his seat. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” 

“Will, I can’t let you leave in the state you are in now, and I don’t appreciate the way you’re speaking to me,” warned Hannibal. “Sit down. Or do I need to notify Jack?” 

There was something in the way he said it, something in Hannibal’s voice that made Will’s eyes burn with tears and knocked the air out of his lungs. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “I don’t know w-what’s wrong w-with m-me.” 

“It’s alright, Will. Please sit down and we can talk about it,” said Hannibal, unaware of the tears that had started building in Will’s eyes.

“Hit me,” Will suddenly said and Hannibal frowned. 

“Excuse me?” Hannibal looked down at Will, all disappointment gone from his face and now replaced with sorrow and confusion. 

“Hit me. I can’t feel anything. Hit me, hit me, I deserve it!” Will had started pummeling his fist against his leg to punctuate every word he yelled out. “I know you want to, you’re mad at me, so hit me for fucks sake!” 

Will lifted his hands to grab his head, his fingers gripping the dark locks tightly. And then he started hitting himself in the head, with closed eyes, and Hannibal hurried towards him, grabbed him and gently but with force pried Will’s hands away from his head. The younger man shook and fought to hurt himself again, but Hannibal turned him around and crossed Will’s arms in an ‘X’ over his chest and held him like that. The shorter man quickly gave up and when his legs could no longer keep his weight up and just gave out underneath him, Hannibal held Will up to slowly lower them both down onto the polished wooden floor. Will was sat in between the therapist’s legs, with his back leaning against his chest and Hannibal held him so he couldn’t hurt himself anymore, at the same time as he kept them both up in a sitting position. Will’s whole body started relaxing and now he was just crying. He didn’t know why he suddenly broke down, but he knew he would be ashamed of it later. Sometimes Will’s body jerked, without him being able to control it, but Hannibal continued to hold him down until he was completely calm. Will’s sobs could at first be heard in the whole office, but now his crying had calmed down so much they only reached Hannibal’s ears in a silent, sorrow whisper. He relaxed the gripp he had on him and started softly moving the hair out of the crying man’s face, without saying a word. He understood that Will needed to calm down before he could try to help him. 

In the end it became completely silent, Will’s breaths were evening out and Hannibal was still running his fingers through his hair. It was an intimate positionen, and usually Will would have not only been extremely comfortable, but would’ve tried to escape the position as quickly as possible. But now he just sat there in the therapist’s arms, eyes shut and tried to calm down completely. At the same time he didn’t want to return to reality. He wished he could stay there forever. Neither unconscious nor awake. Just calm and safe. 

“Will?” Dr. Lecter asked after a while. “Is it alright if I move you over to the chaise longue?” 

In that moment it escaped Will’s mind of what in the world a chaise longue was, but he nodded anyway. “Mhm.”

Hannibal let go of Will’s arms and they fell down to his sides. The therapist lifted him up and carried him over to the chaise longue he mentioned. Carefully, he set Will down so he sat up with his upper body and the rest of him was lying down. He turned around to go get a glass of water for him, but was stopped by a shaky hand that grabbed his arm. 

“Don’t go,” Will whispered weakly. He felt completely exhausted in every possible way. 

Hannibal smiled softly and ran a hand through the other’s hair again. “I’m just going to get you something to drink.” 

Will’s grip on Hannibal loosened and the therapist left the office to go to his big, fancy kitchen and get some water for Will. In the meantime Will tried to keep himself awake, but he constantly kept falling asleep, just to wake up with a start. 

“You can sleep if you want,” said Hannibal once he got back. “You must be exhausted.” 

“It feels like an elephant stomped on my head,” mumbled Will. 

“You hit yourself pretty bad,” Hannibal said and put the glass of water he was holding down onto the small table next to the chaise longue. “You also wanted me to hit you.” 

Will grimaced. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” 

“It’s alright, but I want you to know that I would never do anything like that,” said Hannibal. “I can imagine your reaction was what it was because of how your father treated you.” 

“I hate him,” Will whispered and tried to dry the sticky tears from his cheeks. “It feels wrong to say it. I should be thankful, he never kicked me out… “

“It is completely understandable that you feel this way. He hurt you deeply, not just physically but mentally,” explained Hannibal.” 

“I’m so tired,” mumbled Will. “Maybe you should be worried after all, but I don’t want that.” 

“Go to sleep,” said Hannibal. “I’ll wake you up later.” 

“What about the dogs?” Will asked anxiously, even though his eyes were about to close. 

“They can manage without you for a few hours, I promise. And if it gets too late, I’ll call Dr. Bloom,” Hannibal promised. 

“Thanks,” said Will and Hannibal could see how he slowly drifted further away from reality. “You’re not as bad as I thought.” 

Hannibal smiled at Will’s last words before he fell asleep and watched over him for a bit before he went to his desk and took out a scalpel, paper and a pen. He sharpened the pen with the scalpel and then started drawing the man in front of him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!! Contains mentions of suicidal thoughts, a side character commits suicide, child abuse, autism, ableism, cannibalism, descriptions of murder and violence, some delusions, emotional breakdowns, anxiety, self-harm in the form of hitting.

The sun peeked through the long, maroon curtains and tickled Will’s face. Slowly he opened his eyes, surprised over not hearing his alarm, or the dogs. He usually woke up before sunrise, whether it was because of the dogs, his nightmares or Jack was irrelevant. Now he was waking faster, his body already up and out of the bed to hurry to work before he noticed he wasn’t home. Will looked around the room, at the expensive curtains, the dark furniture, the big bed… he knew without any further thought that this must be a room in Hannibal’s house. A guest room, probably. There were little to no personal belongings in it, however there were a whole bunch of books in shelves who were standing tall against the wall. And Will thought the books Hannibal had in the shelves on the loft in his office were many. 

A clock was hanging over the closed door which probably led to the rest of Dr. Lecter’s house, at it showed the time was already 10:28. He couldn’t remember falling asleep up here, but Hannibal must’ve carried him here. He was still dressed in his clothes from yesterday, so he opened the door and went out into the hall outside of the room. It was big and beautiful, but Will was too busy with finding his way downstairs to admire the tapestry or the small interesting artifacts everywhere. He went right and found a staircase that led down. He then realized he was right outside of the dining room in the enormous mansion. Will could hear sounds coming from the kitchen, so he went through the dining room and into the kitchen, where Hannibal stood wearing a burgundy sweater, whose sleeves were bunched up to his elbows. He was also wearing a white apron, but only around his hips. The sound Will had heard was the sizzling that came from the pan Hannibal had in front of him on the stove. Will watched as the other man made breakfast, completely sunken into the task at hand, and Will didn’t think he even knew he was there. 

“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal said suddenly and Will almost jumped in surprise. “I hope you slept well?” 

“Y-yes,” Will stuttered, but didn’t dare coming closer. “I did. But why didn’t you wake me? It’s already half past ten.”

“Perfect time for brunch, don’t you think?” Asked Hannibal with a light smile when he looked up at Will. “I didn’t want to wake you. It seems like this was the first time you’ve slept this long in a long time.” 

“That’s… true,” said “Will, still doubting every single thing he said. 

“I’m sorry you had to sleep in your clothes, but I didn’t want to cross any lines or make you uncomfortable,” explained Hannibal. “And I had a feeling that you would’ve gone home had I woken you, and you needed sleep.”

“Thank you,” answered Will shortly, but he knew Hannibal knew it meant more to him than what he dared to say. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” said Hannibal. “I was thinking of having a dinner party again sometime soon, since I haven’t hosted one in so long. Would-” 

He was interrupted by his phone which started ringing and vibrating on the kitchen counter. He lowered the heat of the stove and picked the phone up with a glance at the ID. 

“It’s Jack,” Hannibal informed Will before he answered. “Hello.” 

Will averted his gaze so he wouldn’t stare at Hannibal while he talked on the phone. The younger man zoned out during the whole call, mostly because he didn’t want to hear something he shouldn’t, but also because he didn’t want to interrupt. He looked out of the glass door that leads out to the garden, where the sun shines on the snow which refuses to melt. There was even snow left on the tree’s branches, which meant it must be very cold outside.

He was awoken out of his little daydream by Hannibal, who had said his name. 

“Yeah?” Will looked at Hannibal, at his nose, because as always, he avoided eye contact. 

“Jack needs you. They found a new body, and they think it could be the Chesapeake Ripper,” explained Hannibal and finished cooking the food. “He wants us to be there in half an hour.” 

“Why didn’t he call me?” Will asked confused. 

“He couldn’t reach you,” the therapist said. “Your phone is in your jacket in the foyer. Come on, I’ll pack up the food for us so you can eat on the way there.” 

-

The food that Hannibal had made was as always delicious. Will ate quickly on their way to the crime scene, extremely careful to not spill anything on the older man’s car.

Once they arrived at the parking lot whose address Jack had sent them, there was an ambulance and a few police cars already there, and a grumpy Jack met them. 

“I thought maybe he had moved on, or stopped, or even better,  _ died _ , but he struck again,” he said angrily when they climbed out of the car. “The Chesapeake Ripper. Follow me.” 

He led them to the middle of the parking lot where a cherry tree filled with flowers of many different colours and shapes, and with white flowers growing out of its branches, stood. But when Will got closer, he realized that the tree trunk wasn’t made of wood, but a dead man. His whole upper body had been cut open and emptied of organs and even the ribs. The organs had been replaced by bundles of flowers, blue ones in place of the heart between the lungs which had been bet to open to the side, red flowers instead of the liver, yellow ones instead of the stomach and a bunch of white ones instead of the intestines. It was a violent picture, the way the tree grew inside and around the man’s body. This must’ve been prepared for months. That may be the reason there hadn’t been any other murders at the hand of the Chesapeake Ripper during that time. 

“How do you know it’s the Chesapeake Ripper?” Hannibal asked with interest. 

“The displayal of violence and the way he arranges his murders to shame the victims even in their death… ,” Will started talking before Jack could even open his mouth. “It’s typical for the Chesapeake Ripper. Not to mention the obvious way he took almost all organs. Except for the lungs… “

“All flowers are poisonous,” said a voice Will recognized as Beverly’s behind him and he turned around quickly, feigning calm to cover up the fact that she startled him. “We think it may be some sort of symbolisation? Maybe the Ripper wants the victim to choke on his own toxicity, which might be why the lungs are still there, but we honestly don’t have a lot of ideas.” 

Will smiled at the last part, unable to stop himself, and then started nodding at what the raven haired woman had said. “I think you might be right. The Chesapeake Ripper is a lot about symbolisation, about humiliating his victims even in death and exposing them for who they really are, according to him.” 

Hannibal looked at Will with an impressed expression. He had forgotten how entertaining it was to watch Will work, his beautiful mind in working to read what no one else can read from a dead body. 

“We don’t have a lot of time, they want to take the body in to do more tests soon, so do your thing,” Jack commanded Will who nodded in response. 

The others removed themselves from the scene, except for Hannibal who only stood a few feet away from him and closely studied him while he closed his eyes. 

The golden sliver of light, which now reminded Will of the sun that peeked through the curtains when he woke up in Hannibal’s house, swung back and forth underneath his eyelids like a pendulum. He opened his eyes and watched as all cars and people started disappearing, until there was only the man grown into a tree and a table with several flowers, containers and knives on. Will went up to the table and took a knife before he started going up to the man in the tree. 

“I have prepared this for months,” Will narrated while inspecting ‘his’ work. “I have carefully chosen the flowers for this man. He’s worth nothing more than a pig to me. A poisonous pig, who deserves to be butchered.” 

He started cutting into the upper body by making a line in the middle of it with the sharp knife. Blood pours out of the cut in floods, over Will’s hands, but he continues. He cuts open the rest of the upper body and then started emptying it of its organs. He had to push the lungs apart to reach the heart, and laid all organs in the containers. Then he started fumbling with the flowers, the white ones first. He cut them to size, arranged them and then bound them together the way he wanted. Then he put the bundle of white flowers in place of where the intestines should be. 

“He is toxic,” said Will while he prepared both the yellow and red bouquet. “He deserves to be publicly humiliated. People deserve to see him for the pig he is. Nothing but a piece of meat.” 

Suddenly there was a stag standing behind him, and Will stared at it with the flowers in his hands. The stag was big, with ashy dark brown fur and enormous horns. The animal in front of him breathed out air through its nostrils and then turned around and left. It disappeared into the white fog that was there all around them, and Will turned back towards the man, as if nothing had happened. But he knew the stag was still there, still watching. 

He placed the red flowers instead of the liver and the yellow once instead of the stomach, and started putting together the last flower bouquet, the heart made out of the blue flowers. 

“His heart is blue, representing God’s word… ,” he explained at the same time as he finished it. “Blue also stands for wisdom and calm. This man is in a high position at a job full of educated people. It makes his shame even worse. I despise him.” 

Will lifts his head while he starts putting the heart in its place. “I’m better than him.” 

Taking a few steps back he looks up to admire ‘his’ work, as if he was proud of it. 

“This is my design.” 

As soon as Will opened his eyes he noticed Hannibal’s eyes were still on him. He turned away to look at Jack, a sign that he was done. Jack gestured to the paramedics that they could take the body. 

“He has prepared this for months. He put down a lot of work and thought into the details,” Will started explaining. “I think he sees his victims as nothing more than pigs. Something to slaughter just because. On the other hand, it could be because he sees them as… rude. I’m not entirely sure, it’s hard to see the whole picture…” 

“They’re taking the body to Price and Zeller, so we’ll see if we can find out something else,” said Beverly. 

“Aren’t you going to help them?” Will asked and she shook her head. 

“Me and you have been assigned the glorious task of going through files and looking for connections,” she said with the same silly grin as always, which made a big smile spread across Will’s face. 

Will wanted to thank Hannibal for yesterday before they drive back to the academy, but he didn’t dare. Instead he waved an awkward ‘goodbye’ towards everyone before he and Beverly went towards her car. They climbed into it and Beverly started it immediately, as if she had something important to do other than catch a serial killer. 

They drove in silence, except for the quiet sounds of some pop song coming from the radio. Will knocked his fingers rhythmically against the car door, another nervous habit he had. It was nice to know that Beverly would never tell him to stop, because she understood. Or, well, maybe not really in that way, but she was at least more understanding than others. More tolerating, like he didn’t have to apologize for any of his tendencies. And then there was Hannibal as well. Will wasn’t sure of what Hannibal really thought of him, and it made him nervous. The knocks became faster. 

“What are you thinking of?” The woman next to him asked, glancing at Will. 

“I don’t know,” Will shrugged. 

“So… you and Hannibal got here together this morning, and I heard from Jack that you were at Hannibal’s place the whole time we tried to reach you,” started Beverly and Will looked at her with a questioning look on his face. 

“And?” He didn’t understand what she meant. 

“And? What happened? Come on, the tension between you two could’ve been cut with a knife!” She laughed and winked at him. “So,  _ lover boy _ , what happened yesterday? What did you and Hannibal do that resulted in you staying the night, hm?”

She grinned and it took Will a few seconds longer than what it should’ve for him to understand what she was implying. 

“God, no, Bev! I just slept at his house,” said Will and Beverly raised an eyebrow at him, a laugh that said ‘you-just-confirmed-what-I-said-I-can’t-believe-it’ left her causing Will to roll his eyes. “We both slept in  _ separate  _ rooms! Where do you get all this from?” 

“You seem at ease today. A little less depressed,” she joked and Will tried to suppress a smile. 

“Ha, ha, very funny,” he responded. “Can we concentrate us on the psychotic killer we have to catch instead of talking about the ‘sexual tension’ between me and Hannibal?”

“You admitted it! I never said anything about it being sexual! Ha!” Beverly was practically jumping up and down in her seat. 

“No! I didn’t do that at all, it was  _ you _ who implied- oh, forget it,” Will sunk down into his seat. 

“Hey, Will, it’s completely okay,” guaranteed Beverly him. “Hannibal looks good for his age.” 

“What do you mean ‘for his age’?! He is only six years older than me, and I’m 38!” Will exclaimed.

“That very much sounds like someone who’s trying to justify a relationship… ,” Beverly said in between laughs and Will dramatically threw his hands up. 

“I give up, you’re impossible,” his tone was neither hurt nor angry though, and he was even smiling. 

“That’s why we’re friends,” she joked and Will felt warm at her calling them friends. “But if you don’t go over to sleep at Hannibal’s,  _ in the same room _ , I don’t see how I can be friends with a coward any longer.” 

Absolutely incredible, how dramatic they both joke with each other, and absolutely incredible that Beverly was 30 years old and still called him a ‘coward’. He never felt as alive as he did when talking to her. She made his chest feel wonderfully warm inside, but in a completely platonic way. 

“Beverly Katz, you are  _ completely  _ insane.”

-

They sat in a computer room at the academy, Will and Beverly with a computer and a stack of files each, all of the latter about all Chesapeake Ripper murders. They both looked for connections between the victims and even wrote emails to people who knew them to see if Will was right about the killer wanting to show their “true colours”. 

And Will thinks he finally found something. 

It seems that the majority of Chesapeake Ripper victims are well respected personalities, like doctors in different fields, psychiatrists etc. Will’s thoughts went to Hannibal. Was he in danger? At least it didn’t seem like the majority of these people knew each other. So, Will decided to do the only thing he could (even if it was a little bit illegal), and went through their patient lists. There must be a connection somewhere! 

He never should’ve done that. 

On every patient list of victims that had any kind of name inside the medical industry, was one name over and over again; 

_ Hannibal Lecter. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!! Contains mentions of suicidal thoughts, a side character commits suicide, child abuse, autism, ableism, cannibalism, descriptions of murder and violence, some delusions, emotional breakdowns, anxiety, self-harm in the form of hitting.

We think we know people, and then, however cliché it sounds, they surprise us. Sometimes in good ways, and sometimes in bad ways. Will was pretty sure this was the worst way possible. 

Hannibal had texted Will and invited him to dinner at 6 PM at his mansion. And Will didn’t know what the fuck he should do. It was obvious that Hannibal wasn’t some crazy serial killer, right? It must be a coincidence that his name was the only one existing on all patient lists. It must be, but Will couldn’t breathe at the thought if it wasn’t. That thought made him nauseous, and the thought that followed, that Hannibal probably fed them parts of his victims, made him bend over and grip the toilet seat as he emptied his stomach of everything he had eaten that day. Which, funny enough, contained Hannibal’s little “protein scramble”. He wondered which one of the victims had been used to make the sausage. 

No, he can’t think like that. There was still hope. Hope that Hannibal, a respected therapist who even used to work in the ER, who likes to draw and wear expensive three piece suits and have big dinner parties and cook the most exotic foods Will had ever eaten for them, that man couldn’t be a cannibal and serial killer. 

Will prayed to God that this wasn’t true and responded to Hannibal’s text. 

_ I’ll see you at 6! I’m bringing wine. _ _   
_ _ \- W.G. _

-

The car Will had left at his house, had luckily been driven back by Hannibal while he and Beverly were at the academy. And now Will drove in it, constantly checking how he looked in the rearview mirror. He had actually tried fixing his hair, styling it to his best ability, he had shaved and was even wearing the only dress shirt and suit pants he owned. But he also had a gun with him, the cold piece of metal sitting on his lower back inside of his pants, so he could easily grab it, while keeping it concealed. It was just for safety, just to make sure. The bottle of red wine was in the front seat next to him. He thought the best way of finding anything out would be to look in the kitchen, and he already had a plan involving that wine bottle… 

-

“Good evening, Will,” said Hannibal with a small smile when he opened the door for him. 

“Good evening,” Will said back and nervously watched as Hannibal inspected his outfit. 

“You look good,” he complimented him and Will’s cheeks heated up. 

“Thank you, you do too,” he responded and Hannibal opened the door wider to let him in. 

They went into the dining room together, where the table was already set for two people to sit opposite of each other. 

“Sit down, I’ll be right back with the food,” Hannibal said and Will nodded in response before the older man disappeared in the kitchen. Will put the wine bottle onto the table and sat down. Hannibal came back with two plates identically arranged food. They looked like actual works of art, and Will applauded Hannibal’s culinary ability once again, but of course only in thought. 

Once Dr. Lecter had put the plates down, he opened the wine bottle and started pouring some for Will. It was now or never. 

Will had his arm by the wine glass and jerked suddenly (on purpose), causing the glass to fall and spill wine onto his shirt and the table. Will jumped up and quickly put the glass back up to stop more wine from escaping it. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered out as believable as possible, and luckily the situation was embarrassing enough for his face to get all red and hot. “It’s a tic, I’m sorry, I… I can replace the tablecloth for you.” 

Hannibal shook his head with a kind smile. “No, don’t worry yourself over it. Getting out stains is one of my specialties.”

_ You don’t say. _

“You go and put your shirt in the sink with hot water, and I’ll go soak this and get you a new shirt,” suggested Hannibal and Will nodded. He slowly started towards the kitchen while Hannibal removed the tablecloth. As soon as Hannibal was out the door from the dining room and into the foyer, Will hurried into the kitchen and started looking. 

He looked in the fridge at first, which was a little too obvious anyway, but he didn’t find anything weird. Sure, there was meat, but he’d have to test it in a lab to be able to say if it’s a human or an animal, and Will knew it was way too attention-grabbing if he took some of it and gave it to Beverly for testing. So instead he quickly checked all drawers and cupboards, where he didn’t find anything in particular either. Nothing that told him his therapist is a fucking cannibal.    
Next was the little utility room that was connected to the kitchen. He prayed the door wasn’t locked, but when he tried opening it it wouldn’t budge. He looked around the kitchen, desperate to find some kind of evidence before his eyes landed on a rolodex standing next to the stove. Maybe Hannibal forgot it here for some reason. Or maybe it was meant for the kitchen. 

Will quickly went up to the rolodex to see what the cards said. And once again, he wished he hadn’t. 

They were business cards of different doctors, psychiatrists, therapists, and many others glued onto yellow, sun bleached paper. And that was enough evidence for Will. He hear Hannibal return to the dining room and pulled out his gun. Clicking off the safety, he held it out in front of himself while slowly making his way into the dining room again. When Will entered the dining room, Hannibal seemed to be too busy to pull the tablecloth over the table to notice him. 

“You’re the Chesapeake Ripper,” Will said then, anger and betrayal clear in his voice and facial expression. 

Hannibal looked up and saw Will standing there, the brown dress shirt with the wine stain still on and a gun in his hands. He didn’t seem scared, his face showing a calm, neutral expression to the whole situation. 

“Who are we having for dinner today? The man in the tree? The girl on the stag horns?” Continued Will, his voice loud and accusatory. Slightly shaky. 

“Will, calm down,” Hannibal advised him. 

“It was you this whole time. Why am I still alive? You’ve had more than one opportunity to murder me,” Will hissed. “Haven’t I been nothing but rude to you?!” 

“You’re not going to shoot me, Will,” said Hannibal with a superior look on his face, as if he knew more about Will than he did himself. He probably did. 

“Why not? What makes you think I’m not going to put a bullet in your head right here, right now?!” Will was getting more and more frustrated and angry, which was mainly because of how betrayed he felt by the therapist in front of him. 

“Because you’re obsessed with me,” started Hannibal, continuing before Will could protest. “Like I am obsessed with you. Some might even call it love.” 

“I’m not… I don’t feel… ,” Will looked for words that weren’t there, words to protect himself, but he eventually gave up. “How could you do this?” 

“Tell me, Will. Have you ever taken a life?” Hannibal asked curiously. 

The younger man hesitated, trying to see how this could be a trap. But after having studied the situation, he realized that he had the upper hand right now. 

“One time. A man killed his wife and was about to do the same to his daughter. I shot ten bullets into him,” Will told him. 

“Then you must understand,” Hannibal smiled. “We kill to survive. Killing must feel good to God too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?” 

“You see yourself as a God?” Will raised a mocking eyebrow. 

“Not at all,” Hannibal shook his head and slowly walked around the table towards Will. “But I understand him.” 

“So you kill because it’s fun? Because it entertains you?” Will asked, his face twisting in disgust. “And then… then you  _ eat  _ them?” 

“Whenever feasible one should always try and eat the rude.” 

“Free range rude,” Will bit back sharply. 

Silence. A short moment of hesitation maybe, possibly because Hannibal thought of killing him right where he stood. 

“Will you join me at the table?”


End file.
